


lost stars

by neville



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alien Biology, Biology, Botany, Bruce Banner & Carol Danvers Friendship, Bruce Banner Feels, Bruce Banner-centric, Dubious Science, Falling In Love, Fluff, Gardens & Gardening, M/M, Pining, Science, Why Did I Write This?, bruce is on another planet, bruce is really in love!, bruce loves his aliens, bruce watched the martian once and decided he too would like to be alone in space, how do i describe this, i mean what is time, listen i don't know anything about science, that tag needs to take off. they're buddies!, that's bruce right now, this is kinda post-endgame ish but i ignored the prof hulk thing, you know when youre just so depressed you have to yeet onto another planet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 15:01:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20155519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neville/pseuds/neville
Summary: Bruce Banner has been living on an inhabitable Earth-like planet on his own for the past year; then, Thor arrives.





	lost stars

**Author's Note:**

> so i wrote this a while ago after seeing the martian, and then as i started writing realised i know nothing about science ... so i was going to have to set it somewhere similar to earth ... and yeah. then it just turned out into something more about the emotional lives of the characters, rather than being a fic with any sort of scientific accuracy whatsoever. so, i'm sorry for any scientific blasphemy ... but i hope u guys enjoy !!
> 
> this fic is named after the song, from the movie "begin again", which has absolutely nothing to do with this fic, but it's a cute song and the movie has mark ruffalo in it. yay!

**** Bruce Banner is up early enough for the New Massachusetts sunrise, so he fetches a tinned G&T from the ship’s fridge and clambers up onto one of its enormous wings to watch; he’s still a little too clumsy to arrive with much ease, but he’s getting used to it now. What he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to is the  _ view _ : the expanse of green and blue, the ocean of trees forming waves as the breeze skims through their branches. The natural plant life here grows in different colours to Earth, forming an ecological rainbow; leaves here grow in shades of green, blue, and pink (but pink grows on the shorter trees, the ones that stoop like old men below the canopy above), and when the yellow light of the rising sun hits them it’s like a painting. Bruce had taken photographs in his first few weeks (if he’s approximating Earth time correctly), but they had never come close to the real thing. Now he just likes to sit and enjoy it, with his bottled gin and tonic, something he’d discovered in a supermarket in Britain and couldn’t quite believe was real. 

From his pocket, he hears the blip of his pager; it’s configured so that any time he receives any sort of communication or alert on the ship or through any of his other devices, his pager beeps. It’s not particularly useful when he’s a day’s hike away from the ship rounding up extraterrestrial sheep, but it’s useful when he’s still within range of the computers.

He finishes his drink, stuffs the empty can into his pocket, and slowly eases himself down the wing before making a final bold drop onto the grass. His knees groan in protest. He’s too old for this, but honestly couldn’t care less. Even the Hulk likes it out here. He gets to do the heavy lifting. 

The perimeter alert is red, and Bruce taps it, extinguishing the colour. Odd. Carol Danvers doesn’t register on the perimeter alert, so this isn’t her arriving for a quick touchdown. He picks up the radio next to it, speaking into it as loudly as possible; his ship’s comms are abysmal. There’s a crackling sound from the receiver already. “Who’s requesting access?” 

“This is the Benatar, requesting permission to land and coordinates for your landing strip.” 

Bruce hums; he still isn’t sure who on Earth would want to land on his little scrap planet. The only reason  _ he’s _ on it is because it’s hospitable and incredibly similar to Earth, but it’s tiny and the only thing on it are his crops, some animals, and stretching acres of forest. “Can I get the size of your crew?” 

“There’s seven of us.” 

Seven. That’s not too many. Maybe a few too many more than he would like. In fact, letting anybody on his planet is ringing alarm bells, but he doesn’t want to be the asshole that won’t help out a ship in need. “Okay, this is New Massachusetts giving permission to land. We, uh, don’t have a landing strip, but you can use the fields. Just please don’t land on the sheep.” 

“Those ain’t sheep.” 

“They’re my sheep. Don’t land on them. I really like them.” 

“Alright.” The receiver buzzes with static again, and Bruce switches it off and hangs it back on the wall of the ship. He still has absolutely no idea who his visitors are, and is feeling the stirrings of anxiety in his chest, but ignores them in favour of checking the crops and picking a few more potatoes. If he’s honest, it had taken Bruce a horrendously long time to figure out his crop system; it wasn’t easy, and the day his first potato had been ready, he had shrieked and done a half-lap of the plot, eventually collapsing on the grass and laughing. He had been on the planet for a while already, but now it really felt like _his_, and that night he had decided to christen it New Massachusetts, after the place that had changed his life. He also checks on his salad leaves, tomatoes, lettuces, onions, radishes, and beans. There are always a few crops that he has disasters with, but his luck is clearly starting to look up. He even gets the ship stereo going and is sitting eating lunch and tapping a foot to Nancy Sinatra’s _Sugar Town _when he sees the group approaching. 

He realises almost immediately that he knows them. In fact, more than that: one of them is Thor. 

  
  


Blood is pooling between Thor’s fingers, and he stumbles as Groot guides him back onto the ship. He hadn’t realised that the injury was bad until he had looked down and realised he was practically  _ gushing _ ; Thor has been in plenty of battles, and seen more than his fair share of injuries, but the sight of himself haemorrhaging this heavily still makes him feel a little nauseous. Rocket is ahead of them, rifling through the supplies of the medical bay; Thor doesn’t even recognise what most of them are, and just sits down on the bed, his head spinning. He has the vague feeling that he isn’t quite in control of his own body, as if he’s hovering just over it. 

“Alright, stay with us, big guy,” Rocket mutters, hefting Thor’s armour over his head. Thor can’t even make out his own wound for the mess, but Rocket is more practical, soaking a rag and not-so-gently wiping him down. Thor can barely pinpoint the pain through the haze of it, but indignantly says “ow” when he deems it appropriate. “Yeah, yeah,” Rocket grumbles, reaching back across to the table and grabbing a rectangular pad. It’s thick, clearly filled with something, and Rocket rips a tab from it before affixing it to Thor’s wound and then taping it down, just in case. “No taking that off. It’ll kill you. Probably.” 

“Probably?” Thor asks, feeling a little dazed. Groot offers him some water, which Thor downs so quickly he dribbles it down his chin. He wipes it with the back of his hand. 

“I don’t know how you Asgardians work,” Rocket says, waving a hand. “Okay, I’m gonna sedate you now, and don’t freak out about it, cause in like five minutes your adrenalin is gonna crash and you’re gonna hate your life and everything about it.” 

Thor sighs, and is about to tell him to just go ahead when Rocket jabs him in the arm with a needle. Thor gives him a look of vague offence, but can’t quite muster the strength of feeling required; instead, he finds his eyelids fluttering, and drops onto the floor as he passes out. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been out when he wakes up on the bay bed; his armour is off, and his chest is mostly clean save for the occasional smudge of red around where his patch has been secured. He still feels as if his mind and body are separate, but in a much less alarming way, and in the distance, he can even hear the sound of Quill’s music. 

He stands up slowly, because he’s no idiot, and walks through the ship to the deck; Rocket is piloting, and Quill is humming along to  _ Spirit in the Sky _ . Rocket glances over his shoulder. 

“Wow, you’re up quick. How are you feeling?”

“Interesting,” says Thor. “Where are we going?” 

“There’s a small hospitable planet nearby. I’m thinking we drop you there, let you chill out a bit, we go do some business, and then come pick you up. I think there are people down there, but whatever, they’re just farming.” 

“Alright,” Thor says, squinting out the window at the planet. It’s small, a dwarf planet at best, mostly forested, a sphere of green broken up by the occasional smudge of blue. Any other day, Thor would’ve complained about being left on a planet this boring; but he’s tired, extraordinarily so, and wouldn’t mind a little break. Besides which, he is ready to decapitate Peter Quill, which can’t be good for his blood pressure. 

And, to be perfectly honest, that injury was bad. He had been blasted at close range and it had actually  _ hurt _ in a way he didn’t usually feel. Not that he’d ever tell the Guardians that. 

“Wow,” says Peter. “You’re not gonna complain?” 

“Of course not,” says Thor, smiling gamely at Peter. “I love gardening. I’m a man of many interests, many more so than just fighting and putting up with your bad music.” 

Rocket rolls his eyes. “All right, shut up, you pair of turds. This place has got a perimeter barrier.” He clears his throat, flips a switch, and leans in. “This is the Benatar…” 

  
  


The planet is even nicer up close: it’s lush and green, with thriving forests alive with birdsong. Though they land on a field, it takes about an hour’s walk through the foliage to get to the ship and hub of the planet, where someone has apparently been growing a community of Earth crops. Thor is pretty sure the ship is Stark technology, too, and he wonders who it is out here: is it someone he knows? 

“Who the hell would settle out here?” Rocket grumbles. “There’s nothing to do.” 

Thor can understand it, he supposes. It’s beautiful on this planet, and much more peaceful than many of the places he’s been with the Guardians. Soon enough, the thicket starts clearing and they arrive by the crops: Thor recognises tomatoes and potatoes growing, and as he keeps walking, notices a short figure standing by the entrance to the hulking ship. Something about the figure’s stance seems familiar, as if he’s seen it before. He heard Rocket communicating earlier and heard the crackling voice call the planet - or the ship, Thor’s not sure, but planet seems more likely -  _ New Massachusetts _ . Does he know anybody from Massachusetts? He’s not even sure that he knows where Massachusetts is on Earth, just that it is, and he can’t spell it. 

Rocket waves at the figure, who hesitantly waves back and starts to approach. 

_ That’s _ when Thor realises who it is. 

Somehow, in what is perhaps the coincidence to end all domestic coincidences, the figure is Bruce Banner, grinning from ear-to-ear as their eyes meet. Thor throws up an arm. “Banner!” he shouts, breaking into a jog, careful to slow down so that he doesn’t knock Bruce off his feet; Bruce has his arms around Thor in an instant, laughing lightly in his distinctive timbre, letting Thor lift him off his feet slightly. 

“Oh my God, am I glad to see you!” Bruce enthuses. “Wow! I can’t believe you’re here!” 

“I can’t believe that  _ you’re _ here!” Thor mirrors, breaking the hug but letting Bruce cling onto him a little. “What are you doing out here? Last I checked, you were on Earth, and weren’t a big fan of being on other planets.” 

“Don’t laugh,” Bruce says softly, “but I’m doing my eighth PhD. Well, not just the PhD, but I’m doing some of Earth’s first interplanetary research; what I do here is meant to be an exemplar for NASA in how they’ll treat exploring other planets. And I just - I kinda wanted a break from Earth, from the people, from the whole Avenging thing. I’m finding it really difficult. I don’t feel like I’m helping, so I wanted to sorta  _ regroup _ here.” 

“So you’re farming,” Thor laughs. 

“That’s about the size of it. What about you? What have you guys been up to?”

Thor grins. “That’s a lot of long stories, but - I really need to sit down,” he says, and stumbles; Bruce, to both his and Thor’s surprise, catches him, lending Thor his shoulder. Bruce’s expression is one of pure concern, and Rocket steps forward. 

“He’s alright,” he says. “Just took a big hit yesterday. We were hoping he could stay here for a while.” 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine,” Bruce says softly. “He can stay here as long as he wants; he’s saved my ass so many times. Is he hurt badly?” 

Rocket shakes his head. “He’ll be fine. Just don’t let him take that patch off his chest; it’ll fall off when it’s ready, and he probably shouldn’t be doing any heavy lifting. Speaking of - you do this all by yourself?” Bruce nods. “Wow, shit,  _ that’s _ impressive. Take some notes, Quill.” 

Groot takes Thor’s other shoulder, easing the weight on Bruce; it’s slightly awkward to get Thor up the stairs, because even though he can still walk, trying to move as a unit isn’t particularly easy. Bruce guides him over to his ship’s own medical bay, which somewhat irritatingly has the best bed in the vessel, and lets Thor take a seat. He brushes Thor’s hair back behind his ears for a moment, and then fetches him some water. 

“You feeling alright?” Bruce asks. Thor nods. 

“For the most part. But every now and then my legs stop working.” 

“Yeah, that’s probably to be expected.” 

“Weak,” Quill coughs from behind them. Bruce flashes him a dirty look, and considers storming up to him for a moment and offering to stab him and see if  _ he _ finds it easy to stand, but lets the feeling pass like a wave.  _ Thank God for meditation, _ he thinks; he’s not entirely sure where he’d be without it, but the thought makes him shudder. “So, Rocket, let’s head.” 

“Ehh, I dunno,” Rocket says, turning around. “I think we should have a look around first. Besides, this guy’s ship is in some serious need of TLC. And do you have any music from after the 80s? I want to hear  _ that _ .” 

Bruce frowns, but nods, grabbing his iPod; it’s an old Classic, wired into the ship, though he has a quite impressive stash of CDs he’d bought at thrift stores just in case, kept inside one of the storage panels. He chooses  _ There Goes the Fear _ , then glances back at Thor, hoping he’s okay. He seems a little spaced out, just staring and saying nothing in particular. He starts bouncing his leg in time to the music, which works slightly to alleviate Bruce’s worry. 

“So,” Rocket says. “How’s about fixing this ship up, huh?” 

Bruce sizes him up. “As long as it’ll still get me home,” he says. 

“Great,” says Rocket. “That’ll be a hundred thousand units.” 

  
  


Thor isn’t sure when he falls asleep; he only realises that he’s been asleep when he starts awake, lying spreadeagled on the bed of a medical bay that he vaguely recognises as the one on Bruce’s ship. It’s very Stark, and surprisingly very comfortable, and someone has draped a blanket over him that he carefully folds up and sets on the bed beside him. He can’t see anybody around, and so stands slowly, though he’s feeling a little steadier. He probably shouldn’t be taking hour-long hikes at the moment; it maybe wasn’t the best idea. 

The ship is quite sizeable, definitely built for a crew larger than one; the cockpit is small and easily accessible, with a particularly simple steering system. It reminds Thor of the Grandmaster’s ship from Sakaar, and he wonders if Bruce had had some input in it; he had steered absolutely beautifully on Sakaar, for someone who had no experience. Thor supposes that, if Bruce can drive a car, a ship probably isn’t the furthest thing, depending on the steering mechanism. Hanging from above the controls is a small Hulk figurine and an air freshener that doesn’t smell of anything anymore, but apparently once smelled of pine.

He’s careful not to touch too much, since the ship is full of Bruce’s notes: most of the available desk surface is covered in notebooks, some illustrated and some just full of numbers and scribbled equations. There’s a half-empty mug of coffee next to Bruce’s laptop, which is closed shut, and on the lid is an Avengers sticker, and next to it - Thor has to double take, actually, because next to it is some fanart of Thor with a speech bubble reading “lesbian rights”. 

Thor doesn’t remember ever having said those words before, but he appreciates the sentiment. 

When he steps out of the ship, he realises that it’s night-time: out in the distance, he can see a light moving, and follows it curiously. It’s the first sign of anybody he’s seen since waking, and upon closer inspection, he realises that it’s Bruce, crouched down in front of some shrubbery and holding a flashlight between his teeth as he writes something.

“Bruce?” Thor says softly. Bruce drops the flashlight; it lands on his knee and then rolls down onto the grass beneath him. 

“Hey,” he says, looking up. “Sorry, I didn’t realise you were awake. Are you alright?” 

“I feel better,” Thor admits. “What are you doing?” 

“Uh, just observing. I’m still discovering new species: it’s a big ecosystem, and usually there are loads of scientists to do this, not just one. I’m not even a biologist, so it’s a slow process. I’m still trying to learn.” He picks the flashlight up and tucks it away in his pocket, grinning sheepishly. “Let’s go back inside. I’ll get you something to eat.” 

Thor nods; his stomach is starting to growl, and it’s not the most pleasant of sounds. “Where are the others?” 

“Back on their ship for the night. They’re coming to collect some supplies tomorrow and then heading off to… I don’t know where, actually, it had a long name.” Bruce turns his notebook over in his hands as he walks, and lets his thumb skim through the pages in what seems to be a nervous habit. Thor hopes he isn’t making Bruce nervous; he knows he’s an unexpected guest, but he’s trying to be as polite as possible. “Why did you go with them?” 

That, Thor thinks, is a startlingly forward question considering he’s been here for less than a day. But, he supposes, Bruce has a right to know. Bruce was the only person he didn’t tell he was leaving. 

“I didn’t feel ready to go back,” he says honestly. “Why are you in space?” 

Bruce’s voice hitches when he answers. “It makes me feel better to be lonely on my own, not lonely while surrounded by people.” 

Thor hopes that question wasn’t too far, but Bruce seems to calm down when they reach the ship again, flipping on an extra set of lights that illuminate all the metallic detail. The ship is bigger than he thought, Thor realises as he spies a staircase into the upper echelons; Bruce remains downstairs, though, bustling into the kitchen area to start making dinner. Thor can hear him talking to someone, and realises as he peers across that there’s a Flerken circling his feet. 

“Bruce,” Thor says slowly, “where’d you get that cat?” 

“It’s not a cat,” Bruce says. “This is Bell Burnell, and she’s a Flerken.” 

Thor takes a seat at what looks like it might be a dining table, though it’s covered in so many bowls and papers it’s hard to tell, and says “huh”, wondering when exactly Bruce’s sense of self-preservation had run so low that he’d started harbouring deadly aliens on his ship. Thor included. 

“She’s cute,” he says eventually. “I really like the way she eats things.” 

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been trying to get some research done, because apparently when she swallows things they enter a pocket dimension, and I don’t know how she can just  _ summon _ or  _ harbour _ a pocket dimension, it seems crazy, but - I really like having all my limbs intact.” Bruce squats to place a bowl on the floor for her, and beams. “So she can count herself as a scientific miracle for right now.” 

Thor chuckles. “And here I thought you’d been taken in by her wily feline charms.” 

“She ate a panel from my rover the first time I saw her, so there wasn’t much time to think she was a cat.” Bruce scratches her ruff. “I’m still trying to get used to the whole alien thing; everything’s so  _ weird _ here. But I think I’m getting there.” 

“I’m proud of you,” says Thor, and he says it honestly, because he  _ is _ . Running Asgard was hard enough for his father with a whole government and teams of people; Bruce is managing an entire ecosystem by himself. “This is quite a Ph.D.” 

Bruce hums, sounding as if he’s waiting to say something that never quite materialises. 

Some half an hour later, he sets a plate of steaming hot mashed potatoes with garlic and basil in front of Thor; it’s surprisingly good, and it takes discernible effort not to wolf it all down and instead follow Bruce’s more leisurely pace. Bruce is probably sick of potatoes, actually, considering that he has storage containers full of them, but Thor hasn’t eaten a proper meal like this in months and it creates a warm blossom in his chest.

Of all the planets they could’ve landed on, Thor is glad it was New Massachusetts. 

  
  


When Bruce wakes up the next morning, he’s not entirely surprised to find that Thor is up already, listening to the Kashmere Stage Band; what he  _ is _ surprised to find is that Thor is sprawled across the floor, giving himself a stick and poke tattoo on his ankle. The side of Bruce concerned with hygiene recoils, and the side of Bruce that had gotten drunk with Carol Danvers one night and given her a shooting star on her collarbone gives the act a thumbs up. Even then, he’s pretty sure he had been laboratory-standard sterile. 

Then again, he also remembers using vodka on it. 

Bruce can’t think of a witty remark, so just looks down at Thor and says, “morning” before padding through to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. When he returns, upon slightly closer inspection, he realises that Thor is actually tattooing a small lightning bolt onto his ankle; it’s good, too, not riddled with mistakes and gaps like most of the stick and pokes Bruce has seen. He supposes that there aren’t so many differences between Asgard and Earth, then. 

“There’s this movie,” Bruce says as he walks round the ship, doing his morning checks: systems, calendars, supplies. “Back on Earth, called  _ The Martian _ , about a scientist who gets stranded on Mars, and his character explains that, apparently, if you’re the first person to grow crops somewhere, it means you’ve colonised it, so then I thought I could go ahead and call this place New Massachusetts. I didn’t think that anyone was going to come here, so I feel like I’ve named this place something really dumb and have to stick with it.” 

“It’s not bad,” Thor says. “Isn’t that how you Earth people like to name things? New York, New Mexico, New Orleans.” 

“They’ve been around so long that they sound normal, though. New Massachusetts just doesn’t have a ring to it, and now I’ve announced it to all your friends so we’re officially christened, and I have the stupidest planet name in the whole galaxy.” 

“There are worse,” Thor assures him. “I think it’s nice to name somewhere new after home.” 

“Yeah,” Bruce says thoughtfully, and, on an entirely different note, asks, “cereal?” 

  
  


The entire crew of the Benatar come out the second time, now convinced that the ship isn’t likely to be plundered any time soon - not by Bruce or his herds of extraterrestrial sheep, anyway. They need all hands on deck, too, to be able to carry the supplies Bruce hands over; his turnover rate has produced more food than he or Thor can eat, and so he doesn’t mind handing off a good deal of his farmed crops. It feels nice, actually; there’s a sense of accomplishment to knowing that what he’s made is good enough that other people want it. The hour’s walk between the field and Bruce’s ship certainly doesn’t speed things up: after two trips, they stop for lunch. Bruce makes up a salad and pales at Rocket’s suggestion that he cull some of his sheep and eat those, and as the Guardians take over the body of his ship, pulls himself up onto the wing, a vantage point that Groot has already found; he’s playing a battered old games console, and Bruce feels comfortable knowing that he’s being thoroughly ignored. 

Still, he can’t quite help himself but make some awkward small talk, compelled by some human need to socialise. 

“You were with Thor when he made his axe, right?” he asks. Groot doesn’t answer. Bruce wonders if trees have teenage angst. “Uh, I just wanted to say thanks, you know. For getting him back safe, and helping him. I thought he’d died on that ship, and I was so glad to see him alive again.” 

Groot says “I am Groot”, which means nothing to Bruce, and so he returns to his salad. 

A few minutes later, one of the other Guardians comes climbing up: Bruce doesn’t really recognise her or know her name, just that she seems nice and a little less in-your-face than the others. He shuffles across to make room for her.

“Hi,” he says. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m, uh, Bruce.”

She smiles. “I am Mantis,” she says, and then leans over, touching his shoulder. Bruce isn’t the touchiest person he knows, and he feels a little odd, but supposes that she  _ is _ an alien, and he smiles back awkwardly before realising that she’s scrunching up her face and her antennae are doing something particularly odd. In fact, he thinks she’s - she’s definitely  _ doing _ something with his mind, and he’s about to recoil when she says, “you have feelings for the Lord of Thunder.”

“God,” Bruce says softly. “God of Thunder.” 

“You don’t think you can ever tell him because you think he’ll never feel the same way,” she continues. His jaw drops a little. He’s never told anyone this, not ever, and she’s just  _ divined  _ it from his mind. Bruce doesn’t think that even Tony could guess. “And you think he deserves better, and you are so hurt because you feel  _ so _ strongly…” 

“Can you,” he swallows, his throat dry, “can you stop, please.”

She lets go of him and he reels back, almost dropping his salad; he’d forgotten it in the moment, and now his stomach is churning. She knows. All these feelings he has, she’s put them out there into the world as words. He doesn’t know what to say. 

“He thinks about you a lot,” Mantis assures him. Bruce looks at her for a moment, trying to figure out if she’s being nice or if it’s true - but she strikes him as someone extremely  _ honest _ . “You think he thinks your planet is stupid. But he doesn’t. He likes it.” 

Bruce feels as if he should say something, anything, but his mind is still reeling; after a few moments, he leans back and has another mouthful of salad, wondering if there’s anything to say at all. From behind him, Groot says “I am Groot”, and Bruce has no idea what it means, but feels as if it was meant to be reassuring and it works a little. He’s always been a little intimidated by the Guardians, but there’s a kindness about them, actually; Rocket may crack jokes, but he’s fixed and amended a couple parts of Bruce’s ship already and has been checking consistently on the patch on Thor’s chest. Groot is a little antisocial, but gave an arm for Thor’s axe and has been consistently helping with the heavier lifting. Drax is… Drax. But they’re not the worst visitors. He’s kind of enjoying the company, actually. 

He finishes his salad, and eases himself down off the wing. 

  
  


Thor says goodbye to his shipmates before their last trip out to the Benatar; four hours of walking and he’s starting to feel a little light-headed, even though he knows Bruce had given him extra food at lunch. He tries to insist on coming, but Rocket fixes him with a glare and point-blank tells him  _ no, you moron _ . It’s harder than he had expected, actually, to bid them farewell, and it’s quietly lonely on board once everyone is gone, though he supposes that this must be how Bruce lives most of the time. 

He had regrettably not thought about what he’d leave behind when he left; he just didn’t expect something like  _ this _ . 

He had thought about Valkyrie, about New Asgard, about Korg and Miek; he hadn’t thought about  _ Bruce _ . He’d thought in a bubble. 

Running a hand through his hair, he paces the ship a little. He’s been through most of it already, but affords himself a closer look at some of Bruce’s things this time: it feels a little invasive, but he supposes he’s going to be living with Bruce for a while anyway. It seems unlikely that Bruce is going to put most of this stuff away. 

Most of his notebooks are still just scientific observations written mostly in shorthand, so Thor understands none of them; but by Bruce’s bed, on top of a pile of books that seem to be about science (with a book on the top that seems to be fiction, called  _ Annihilation _ ), there’s a large scrapbook that seems to be kept in much better shape than the dog-eared and battered notebooks littering the other surfaces of the ship. Thor picks it up cautiously, opening the first page: it’s Bruce’s ecological observations, records of different ecosystems on the planet. There are small sketches of plants and wildlife dotted around, surprisingly good considering that they’ve been drawn in just black pen: a duck, a type of variegated leaf, his  _ alien sheep _ . Beside some of them seem to be proposed names; beyond that, Bruce has painstakingly named every location that he gathers information from. Thor isn’t sure that he understands the names or their origins, but his fingers pause just underneath the illustration of the duck. It’s heavily annotated, lines zig-zagging from its body: one of them reads, excitedly, in Bruce’s curved scrawl,  _ its blood vessels act as superconductors _ ! 

Thor follows the writing to where it becomes a small paragraph.  _ The mechanics are unclear, but Aix Thor appears to be capable of attracting lightning strikes, retaining their energy in its body, and discharging it in concentrated strikes against predators _ . 

_ Aix Thor _ . 

If Bruce thought New Massachusetts was a bad name, Thor has more words for him about this one; but he smiles, tracing the letters and the pen strokes of Bruce’s art, imagining him sitting by the pond in a poncho in the midst of a thunderstorm and the look of awe on his face as he watches the duck  _ absorb _ . He thinks about Bruce writing down the name, the squint in his eye despite his glasses as he focused on the little creature.

It takes his breath away, really. 

He watches the sun set in lazy orange pools across the horizon; Bruce arrives at the last flickering of light across the grass, and smiles a little dazedly at Thor, as if he hadn’t been expecting Thor to be waiting. “Hey,” he says softly. “I’m just going to go and observe for a bit. There’s this nocturnal species that reminds me of opossums living in the bush, and they have distinctive pattern differences in their fur that I’m trying to investigate right now. I’ll be back in an hour.” 

Thor nods, and, as he watches Bruce pick up his notebook and scrabble for a pen with ink left in (Thor found a drawer full of empty Bics earlier), finds the courage within himself to ask if he can come, too. Bruce looks up, and scratches behind his ear involuntarily. 

“Yeah,” he says, “sure. But it’s not really interesting or anything, I kinda just sit there…” 

“I don’t mind,” Thor insists. “I’d like to see these creatures. These  _ opossum  _ things.” 

“Oh.” Bruce smiles, and Thor swears he sees a light pink flush in his cheeks. “There are some spare notebooks around somewhere if you want to use one. I’m going to get some biscuits.” 

In five minutes, Thor has located a small A6 notebook that he knows Bruce will probably never use (he’d heard Bruce complaining about the size before, in the Tower, grumbling that it was  _ impossible to write in an A6 diary _ ) and a pencil, and Bruce is armed with a stack of rich tea biscuits (Thor has never heard of them, and wonders how you get the flavour of tea into a biscuit); the particular piece of shrubbery that Bruce’s fascination lies in is about three minutes’ walk away from the ship, and so soon enough, Thor is squatting on the ground, following the beam of Bruce’s flashlight as he introduces Thor to all the opossums by name. Bruce says he avoids naming them after other Avengers, just in case they ever find out, but points to one of the little creatures and says “except for him, he’s Bucky”. Thor understands the name almost immediately: the little mammal does look remarkably like its namesake, and Thor chuckles lightly. 

“What does the big guy think about all this?” Thor asks, taking a quick sketch of Bucky in his own tiny notebook. He’s no artist, but neither is Bruce, and that isn’t the point, really: they’re observing, learning. It’s fun anyway; Thor hasn’t gotten to just sit down and draw since school, and it feels remarkably calming. He understands the appeal of this place for anyone; for Bruce, of course, someone who had never loved the action anyway, an escape like this seems only natural. The whole saving the world business has always been tiring, both physically and emotionally; more so for a man split between two, Thor thinks. 

“He doesn’t mind it too much. He gets to do all the heavy lifting, and if I’m tired, I let him do the hikes. He’s faster.” 

“I see. I’m sure he enjoys that.” 

They spend the next hour like that, just watching: Bruce takes notes and Thor holds the flashlight for him, occasionally doodling some of the creatures or the plants. Bruce talks to him the whole time, explains that he doesn’t know why the animals seem to reside primarily in these bushes and how difficult he’s finding learning to do the work of a biologist as a trained physicist and chemist. “It’s all science,” he says, “but it’s all so different, even within one field. Trying to juggle all three… Wow.” 

“Well,” Thor says, “you have seven PhDs, so I’d say you’ve managed it very well.” 

Bruce is quiet for a moment; Thor would bet he’s blushing, but the sun is dipping low in the sky and Bruce’s face is painted in shadows. “Thanks,” he says softly, and they both have a biscuit. A breeze rustles the grass. Thor smiles. 

  
  


Thor spends a few days just helping Bruce manage the crops and observing with him as he heals; he sleeps more, takes afternoon naps, and eats regularly, and they all do wonders for his recovery. Bruce has a count of the creatures in the bush, and says he’s close to finishing his observation on that particular part of the ecosystem; Thor simply nods, and watches as Bruce fills out his notebooks and presses some of the flowers from the bush. “I did a microscopic analysis and testing,” he says, “and some drawings, but I think this’d be nice, too.” 

It’s a few days before he suggests the idea of the hike to Thor, and he does so tentatively. “The ecosystem isn’t all here,” he says. “And most of the animals are a few days’ hike away. There’s some really interesting stuff out there, and I’d like to keep an eye on the sheep before they eat  _ everything _ …” He smiles sheepishly. “You don’t have to come. I just thought it would be nice.”

“No,” Thor scoffs, “I would love to come. I need to  _ do something _ and get back on my feet.” 

Bruce is careful to take most of the burden, leaving Thor with a light pack as Bruce takes most of the scientific equipment and food. Thor brings spare clothes and water, and they set out early in the morning, following the dawn light and Bruce’s compass. Thor is impressed by the hike they take, by the beautiful forests that break out into clearings and by the long grass growing by the banks of the river that goes on for miles on end, its water flowing clear. Bruce explains that this is where he gets his water supply, after running it through a filtration system, and they spend the afternoon of their first hiking day knee-deep in the river collecting specimens of the aquatic plant life and catching fish for just long enough to take pictures. Though Bruce is a staunch vegetarian, Thor catches one of the fish and cooks it on a small log fire he builds that Bruce sits in front of, warming his hands. 

“I wish I had some marshmallows,” he laughs. “We could’ve had s’mores. You’d like them.” 

Thor sleeps in the grass that night, bugs be damned. The next day, they hike much further, following the river until its end and continuing on, past clearings and fields of yellow and pink flowers. They trek past some of Bruce’s sheep; they really don’t look that much like sheep, but they’re quadrupeds who just wander around and eat all of the damn grass, and so to Bruce they’re absolutely sheep. He recognises most of them now: this is  _ his _ flock, really, moreso than any others. He points them out to Thor and by name. 

“They’re sweet,” Thor smiles. “Do they eat people, too?” 

“Not that I know about,” Bruce answers. 

He joins Thor under the stars that night, even though Bruce hates bugs more than anything; he’s determined to sit and look at the different patterns of stars, and he lies in the crook of Thor’s arm, feeling the warmth emanating from him. Bruce doesn’t experience this kind of intimacy often, or even this closeness to people; this is the most he’s felt in a long time, years he doesn’t dare to chart, and when he shuts his eyes, he sinks into the best sleep he’s had in months. 

When he wakes up, he listens to the rhythm of Thor’s heartbeat and breathes in time with him, and watches the sun begin to track across the sky before he gets up. 

He spends the morning doing a little bit of surveying; he hasn’t done a lot of that this far out, and so he throws down some of the quadrats he brought in his rucksack and draws grids of the grass until Thor wakes up. He lets Thor do some of the random sampling because Thor just loves throwing them over his shoulder, and as Bruce takes observations, Thor sits and sketches something of his own accord and eats some of their breakfast biscuits. 

“I know who would like this place,” Thor says absent-mindedly as he sketches. Bruce looks up from cataloguing daisies (he  _ thinks _ they’re daisies; he’s taken some samples to check, but he’s going to call them daisies in his endeavour to stubbornly pretend that everything is like home). 

“Who?” he asks. 

Thor snickers. “Nick Fury.” 

Bruce can’t help but laugh. “He sure would.” 

Bruce doesn’t intend to go too much further, now; they walk for another few hours until they reach the banks of Lake Manhattan. Bruce never really goes further than this point, just for fear of being too far from the ship, and he takes a seat in the muddy banks, looking out at the sea of green that has taken over the lake’s surface. It’s not the bright green that he usually sees in the photos (well, that’s cyanobacteria not algae anyway), but it’s still stunning, a wash of colour like paint mixed with water. 

Thor stands and watches for a while, and then sits down next to Bruce.

“It’s an algal bloom,” Bruce says. “A rapid increase in the population of algae in water systems. In freshwater lakes, they’re the result of an excess of nutrients, but I’m not sure what’s causing it here - usually it’s the run-off from fertiliser or the result of household cleaning products, but I’ve not tried to break down the chemical components in the water yet.”

“It’s very green,” Thor says sagely. 

“Yeah,” Bruce laughs. “Yeah, it is.” 

“I would’ve loved to go swimming, but I’m not completely convinced by this lake.” 

They have a rest there, because it’s nice: even though the lake has been swallowed up by algae, it’s quiet, with just the buzz of the planet’s insects and the sound of the breeze through the trees. Thor has a nap. Bruce takes samples from the water, and watches a group of grey clouds roll over the sky, cutting out the warmth of the sun. He realises he forgot to bring a rain jacket, and sighs; at least their bags are waterproof. 

Thor wakes up when the first spits of rain hit the ground; he opens one eye lazily, and looks at Bruce. 

“I have some music,” Bruce offers. His portable speaker is waterproof, at least; he usually doesn’t listen to any music out here, because he’s usually busy intently observing things, but this feels a little more like a camping trip. Things are even going wrong for them as they keep walking, the rain battering down on them and soaking its way through Bruce’s hair, then Thor’s, until they’re both dripping as they walk. Bruce opts to listen to Kali Uchis’s  _ In My Dreams _ , a song that always makes him think of the rain. 

Thor decides to dance to it, jogging in front of Bruce and gyrating just enough to make him laugh. 

“What are you laughing at?” Thor demands. “This is great exercise!”

“Shouldn’t you be taking it easy?” Bruce asks. Thor scoffs. 

“I’m the God of Thunder,” he says. “I don’t  _ take it easy _ .” 

He  _ is _ better, Bruce notes, and he hasn’t seen any fresh blood speckling Thor’s skin around the patch recently, but after a while he slows down and needs a Tylenol. Bruce smiles at him. “Take it easy,” he says, and after about ten minutes’ worth of walking, he realises that they’ve finally arrived at their destination: this is the furthest field he exerts control over, populated by a different species of sheep than those closer to him. He can see his greenhouse in the distance, and the broken-down form of his old rover. 

He and Thor decide to rest in the rover until the rain lets up; they eat more biscuits and play some games of Uno. Thor’s still getting used to being a gracious loser. Bruce is patient with him. 

The rain lets up for an hour or so, during which Bruce checks the greenhouse: he’d spent an achingly long time wiring up a sprinkler system in there that watered the plants at certain intervals, meaning that, after his initial trip out here to set up, he could essentially leave everything be to grow itself. Maybe not the best method, but with the rover broken down, Bruce wasn’t exactly content with hiking out here constantly just to check on his plants. He grows the majority of his fruit here, and contents himself with picking everything that looks edible (some of the fruit just  _ doesn’t _ ) before cutting back some of the plants. His lemon tree looks like it’s about ready to grow into an actual tree. 

It’s drizzling again when he steps out, but only a little, and he spies from the distance Thor waving a hand at him. He jogs over. He feels surprisingly sprightly; usually he would walk much faster on his hikes, but he’s been taking it slow for Thor’s sake, and so he’s feeling more energetic than usual. The first time he’d walked here instead of driven, he’d crashed in the rover and slept for hours. 

“I think one of your sheep is giving birth,” Thor calls as Bruce arrives, pointing to one of the creatures. Bruce is no animal expert, but Thor is right. “I delivered a baby once.” 

“Well, I could use the experience,” Bruce says, shrugging off his rucksack and leaving it on the grass. “I, for one, have never tried to deliver an alien baby. Not really my area of expertise.” 

“It is now,” Thor says light-heartedly. 

“Yeah, thanks.” 

Bruce wracks his brain for anything,  _ anything _ he knows about childbirth: surprisingly enough for a man who had spent years of his life acting as the only medical doctor within a town’s radius, he’s never actually delivered a single baby. Most of the places he’s been don’t believe in men delivering babies. He thinks that’s probably fair. 

He fishes in his pocket for his smaller torch - this one is medical, and much brighter and more precise, and reluctantly examines the ewe, trying not to disturb her too much. “That does  _ not _ look fun,” he mutters. “I think - maybe - we should just leave her. I’m not seeing any problems. I’m sure she knows what she’s doing.” 

Thor nods, and they retreat a little, sitting in a patch of clean field and watching the other sheep mill about curiously. Bruce watches a little cautiously, but gets back to playing Uno with Thor for a while, ignoring the rain splotching their cards. He has more than one deck. He has a cat-themed deck of normal playing cards, one of which he’s missing because Bell Burnell ate it. “I think you should name the lamb after me,” says Thor. 

“You aren’t delivering it,” Bruce points out. 

“I pointed it out.” 

“I don’t name these sheep.” 

“You should name this one. And it should be called Thor.” 

“And if it’s a girl?” 

“Thor is gender-neutral.” 

“I can’t tell if that’s a joke.” 

“Names don’t have genders on Asgard. It’s a stupid Earth concept.” 

Bruce concedes that, and then plays a plus four, and Thor throws all his cards at Bruce’s head. He can’t really take his eyes off the sheep, though, not even as he collects all his cards and starts to shuffle them aimlessly. He’s a good cards player. He’s no Tony or Rocket, but he’s had enough practice than he can riffle shuffle and twirl cards round in his fingers without paying much attention. 

He’s been on this planet for a long time - he doesn’t know how long, hasn’t been counting the months, really, and yet, he’s never seen a birth before. It’s stupid, he thinks, but something about it just feels special. He’s watching the cycle of life take place, right in front of him. 

It’s a little sobering. 

He thinks about his apartment in New York, nestled in a corner of Queens. He thinks about falling asleep on the Subway, the MetroCard that’s in his pocket even though he’s so far from Earth that he can’t even see it in the sky. He thinks about the bodega near his apartment, the girl behind the counter who always chews gum and says  _ hey _ every time he comes in and notices if he hasn’t been in for a while, or if he buys something new. He wonders if she’s worried about him. 

Life is passing by on Earth, and he isn’t there for it. 

“Bruce?” Thor asks, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I threw those cards at your head.” 

“It’s not that,” Bruce says. “I’m just thinking.” 

“About?” 

“Maybe going home soon.” 

Sure, he kind of  _ broke Harlem _ once and avoided New York like the plague for it, but there’s a part of him that’s always rooted there. He’s pretty sure the sound of the announcements on the subway trains are wired into his mind, the noises that play in his head as he’s trying to get to sleep that break up the annoying whine of his tinnitus. 

Seeing Thor again has reminded him a little bit of what it was like to really feel at  _ home _ : with the other Avengers, cracking jokes, bickering, anything - just having what felt like a family after years of travelling on his own. Sure, it’s been a nice hiatus from the crazy here: but he’s never really been envisioning an end date before. And maybe that was just the wrong way to think. 

“What will all the potatoes do without you?” Thor teases, but he squeezes Bruce’s shoulder lightly and smiles. “I’ll go back with you. If you want.” 

“Oh, shit,” Bruce says suddenly, realising that sheep’s water sac has just burst; if he knows anything, and he means  _ anything _ , about sheep giving birth, it’s that this means that the ewe is coming. He can see its feet, which coincidentally means it’s facing the right direction, and he watches, awestruck, as new life emerges out into the world. The ewe bleats - if it can be called that. 

Even Thor looks impressed. “Wow.” 

“I thought of a name,” Bruce says. “Thor Sheepdaughter.” 

Thor looks over at him, and laughs so heartily that he doubles over. 

  
  


Bruce sleeps his way through most of the storm; Thor is transfixed by it, and sits in the rover, sketching the new lamb (who may or may not be covered over with his blanket right now) as he watches lightning zigzag across the sky. Something seems to be weighing on Bruce’s mind, but he’s not sure what it is, or how to help. There must be plenty on his mind. They’ve been through a lot. 

Cautiously, careful not to wake him, Thor tangles a hand in Bruce’s hair. 

The thought occurs to him that he might be in love. 

  
  


Bruce lets Thor throw a few more quadrats round, just for fun, and then they start the hike back. Bruce has taken the real samples and doesn’t mind sketching up a few more grids: he’s sure he has enough information for some sort of merit from Earth, botany degree or no, but there can never  _ really _ be too many grids. If he’s honest, he hasn’t been taking the whole  _ degree _ part seriously: it was just an excuse for this break, a reason he could produce when someone asked him  _ why _ . He’s got enough degrees. 

“Thor will maintain our legacy,” Thor says with a smile on their second day of walking. Bruce laughs. “She’s a strong one, I’m sure.” 

“Thor,” Bruce asks as they walk, the sun beginning to set behind them and painting the parts of sky not blocked by the remainder of the clouds bright pink. It’s strange, really, how far away he is from Earth and yet how this place can seem so much like it. “Was it a bad idea that I came here?”

Of all the places to go, he’d come to somewhere just like Earth, but quieter. 

“No,” says Thor. “We all deserve a break. I suppose you just came a little further.”

Bruce sighs. “I’m starting to feel bad. I mean, the world hasn’t stopped just because I left it; and what if there are people who need me?” He scratches his other arm. “Peter… he’s still just a kid. I know he has his aunt, but what if she needs help? I’ve been having a nice time, but I feel so suddenly guilty now. I didn’t really think about anybody else.”

He starts as Thor’s arm works its way round his waist; Thor is warm, emanating a steady and gentle heat. 

“Sometimes you have to do things for yourself, and prioritise yourself. And there’s nothing wrong with that. But if you think it’s time to leave, now, then that’s okay, too. You should be allowed to be  _ happy _ .” 

Bruce feels as if he should say something witty, like  _ how come you never told us you were a motivational speaker _ , but instead he just leans a little more into Thor’s warmth. “Mm.” He resists the urge to close his eyes, because he’s still walking, but all of him wants to just sit down and let Thor hold him. “Thanks, Thor. I missed you.” 

There’s a little touch of sadness in Thor’s eye when he says “I missed you, too”. 

They make their little camp by the river, which Thor washes himself in and Bruce shyly remains on the banks of. He washes his hair, and scrubs his armpits, then flints a fire so that Thor can catch fish again. Bruce has been a vegetarian for most of his life, but lets Thor talk him into trying some fish. It’s nice, actually, even though Bruce feels very unethical for the experience (yep, he’s definitely still a vegetarian). He shares a bar of dark chocolate with Thor, and they listen to Buddy Holly as they sit on the banks. This is the first music he ever remembers listening to, the first record he ever remembers playing; and even though it had been the companion to some of the worst years of his life, there’s something comforting about it. It reminds him of home. 

There’s something about Thor that makes Bruce feel comfortable, too, and so he doesn’t feel self-conscious when he sings along: “ _ the little things you do, make me want to be with you; rave on, it’s a crazy feeling _ …” 

This  _ is _ a crazy feeling: how comfortable he feels around Thor, now, the way he thinks he can be vulnerable in front of him. He doesn’t know if he’s ever really felt like this before - not with Betty, or, heaven forbid with Nat, who he’d always been just a little bit scared of no matter what he told himself or her. With Thor, he knows he doesn’t have to hide. Thor would take every part of him as is. 

He knows it’s been a long time since Sakaar, but he still remembers spilling his guts to Thor on one of the city doorsteps, telling him that all anybody ever wanted from him was Hulk. Thor had frowned at him, because Thor valued things in physical power, not mental; but Bruce had pushed on, insisting that his PhDs made him valuable, and even though Thor could have laughed, could have said anything, he had taken it at face value. 

He had never forced the Hulk out. 

He had shouted at Bruce in the spaceship, “use one of your PhDs!”

He had listened. 

Thor walks out from the river, and Bruce passes a towel over to him. “Is the idea that you shouldn’t have come here what you’ve been worrying about?” Thor asks, toweling off his hair and resting the towel on his shoulders. Bruce sighs, resting his face in his hands, and nods. He feels Thor sit down next to him, and starts a little as Thor leans against him. “Bruce. This has made you happy, hasn’t it?” Bruce nods again. “Then it was worth it. Every second of it.” 

They sit in silence for a few beats, and Bruce says it before he can stop himself. 

“I care about you so much,” he whispers. 

“I know,” Thor says, and kisses into Bruce’s hair. 

  
  


They arrive back at the ship just over a day later and are greeted by the meows of Bell Burnell, who Bruce fearlessly scoops up into his arms and showers with kisses. Thor helps Bruce pack up some of his things: just pop-tents, really, and boxes and notebooks in the ship that are going to need to be packed away before they hit zero-g. It’s evening, though, so Bruce decides that they’ll launch in the morning; maybe he’ll go out and observe the thicket, again, just for good measure. 

As he steps outside the ship, he realises that he can see something in the distance: a warm and steady yellow glow, and he grins from ear to ear as he realises what that means, starting a jog towards the field as the figure of Carol Danvers draws closer. 

“Carol!” he enthuses, meeting her with a short hug. He’d been a little scared of her when he first met her, honestly, but she’d asked if she could use this planet as a bit of a resting place, and he couldn’t say no to her. Several weeks of visits and more than a few drinking sessions later and they’d become fast friends; Bruce is never one to get drunk, really, always nervous of making a fool of himself, but with Carol, he gets the feeling she wouldn’t judge. “Hey. It’s good to see you. Did that thing with whoever it was go well?” 

“I kicked his ass,” she says with a grin. “How are you doing?” 

“I’m packing up, actually,” he admits. “I’ve been thinking, and - honestly, I think it’s time to go home and face up to the things that are scaring me. Being a hero. Being responsible. You know.” 

She nods. “That sounds like a plan,” she says earnestly. “Do you want to go inside and crack open a cold one? I’ve got some time.” 

“I was hoping I could talk to you, but… out here.” 

“Yeah, sure.” Carol smiles at him, and it makes Bruce feel a little nervous - what he wants to say is a lot, really, and so he picks a spot a little further out from the ship, just so that they won’t be overheard. Bell Burnell approaches them, curling up at Carol’s feet; she’s always been Carol’s, really, but she and Bruce co-parent. “What’s up? You look like you’ve been thinking.” 

“It’s more like overthinking, really.” Bruce clicks his tongue. “I think I’m in love with Thor. Like,  _ really _ in love with Thor; I’ve never felt this way about anybody before.” 

Carol looks at him for a long while, and laughs as she takes his hand, squeezing it reassuringly before letting it drop back onto his knee. “Oh my God, little Bruce has caught feelings, huh?” 

He can’t help but laugh, too. “Don’t make fun of my very  _ serious _ feelings, Danvers.” 

“That’s so cute, honestly.” She looks up at the landscape of stars above them as Bruce wrings his hands, knitting his fingers together and then drawing them apart. “I don’t really know what there is to think about. You just have to tell him how you feel. He’s Thor. He’s a big softie.” 

Bruce nods. Thor  _ is _ a big softie. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before,” he says. 

“I’m glad you’ve found it. Everybody deserves to be  _ that _ happy. Especially with the God of Thunder.” 

“I’m sorry I won’t be on this planet anymore. There’s always the sheep. Thor and I watched one give birth a few days ago, so there’s always Thor Sheepdaughter to keep you company. She seems like fun. And, uh, I don’t know if you have the time to do this or anything, but if you see a ship called the Benatar anywhere, can you let them know that Thor is with me?” 

“Sure can,” Carol nods, and then falls back on the grass with a soft  _ thump _ . “I call dibs on being maid of honour when you two get married.” 

Bruce joins her in lying in the grass. “Fine,” he says, and they sit like that for a long time, talking about all the moments they’ve shared together on this planet; Carol even tells him about the first time she met the Hulk, a story so funny it gives Bruce stomach cramps. He laughs until he thinks he’s going to die and until his voice has just become a hysterical wheeze, and somewhere in between all the telling of stories, he falls asleep there. 

Thor begins to worry after an hour and a half of Bruce being gone, and steps outside: he wanders for a little while. He eventually finds Bruce a little out from the ship, curled up and snoozing in the grass, and he smiles, slowly lifting him up and careful not to disturb him. Bruce is light and small and easy to carry, and nestles into Thor’s arms as if he’s always belonged there. 

Thor lays him down in his bed, and pulls the covers over him, and lets his thumb brush Bruce’s forehead for a moment that’s more than fleeting. 

  
  


Bruce yelps as he lowers himself into the water, the cold hitting his toes and jolting up his legs. He’s never actually been in this lake before, and is still kind of convinced that there’s some kind of Loch Ness Monster inside that’s going to eat him and  _ then _ Thor will be sorry for talking him into this, and gasps as he lets himself drop, plunging into the clear water before he resurfaces, pushing his hair out of his face. 

This definitely isn’t scientific. 

He definitely regrets asking Thor if he wanted to come to this lake before they left. This one is clear, not like Lake Manhattan, and Bruce hasn’t actually given this one a name yet. He’s not sure he ever will now. Maybe he should let Thor name it. 

Thor is having much more fun splashing about than him, seemingly unaffected by the cold; he grabs Bruce’s hands and pulls him over, grinning. His hair is plastered to his own forehead, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “You came in!” he says. 

“It’s cold,” is the only thing Bruce can think to say, because it’s the only thing he can  _ think _ : the chill of the water is sinking into his skin, and Thor laughs. 

Bruce warms up pretty quickly when Thor decides to splash him, and Bruce isn’t going to let him get away with that without splashing him back, and before either of them really know what’s going on, they’re engaged in a full-on splash battle as if they’re twelve-year-old boys and not two Avengers. It’s been a long time since Bruce has been able to let go of himself like this and not worry about anything: not about going home, not about how Nick Fury is going to shout at him for twenty minutes for being an idiot, not about whether or not he’s going to manage a degree out of this, not about  _ anything _ except if Thor is about to splash him again. 

He doesn’t remember feeling this free, ever. 

God, Thor makes him so happy. 

After a while, they pull themselves up back onto the grass, where Bruce has left an ice box full of drinks. He takes his last canned gin and tonic, and offers Thor a cider. The storm clouds have cleared, and the sun is shining down, lighting up the patch of grass they’re resting on. A part of Bruce wants this to never end, but another part of him is still yearning for New York City, and he doesn’t know which to listen to. 

(Maybe the part of him that thinks that Thor would love New York.) 

“You should name this lake,” Bruce says. He didn’t realise that his hand was on Thor’s, but he feels a little stirring in his stomach as Thor’s fingers wind through his. “Before we go. I didn’t name this one.” 

“Oh,” Thor says, without hesitation. “It should be Lake Bruce. In tribute to all of your hard work, and in recognition of the fact that  _ you were here _ . Have you considered leaving a flag? I know Americans love doing that.” 

“I don’t really want to leave a flag,” Bruce says. “This place is in its own place. It doesn’t belong to America, or me, or anything. I’m just glad I got to stay here.” He pauses. “Lake Bruce is a really terrible name.” 

“It is, but I like it.” 

Bruce wants to tell Thor that he loves him. 

He decides it isn’t the moment, and shuts his eyes, focusing on the feeling of Thor’s fingers between his. 

  
  


If there’s anything that Bruce is more proud of than his seven PhDs, it’s that he can fly this spaceship. He spent most of his childhood obsessed with the  _ Star Wars _ movies, and the idea that he would one day be in a cockpit flicking switches above his head had never even occurred to him then. Even as a kid, he hadn’t let himself dream too deeply, and yet here he is. He can even warp, something he had most definitely not been good at when trying to reach this planet in the first place. 

This time, he warps flawlessly. Thor looks impressed. 

“You  _ should _ have a PhD in flying alien spaceships,” he says. 

“I’m not writing a thesis on that,” Bruce says. 

Even after he warps, it’s another day of flight before they’re going to reach Earth; Bruce switches on autopilot and stretches, stepping into the main hub of the ship and realising as he walks that Thor is playing Nina Simone. In fact, it’s Bruce’s favourite song,  _ My Baby Just Cares For Me _ ; everybody always assumes that Bruce’s favourite song will be from an opera, but he has vivid memories of spinning this record at university at three in the morning while working through pages of proofs. It makes him happy, and when he turns the corner, Thor is standing and grinning at him. 

“You know I can’t dance, right?” Bruce asks, raising his eyebrows. Thor  _ has _ to know that he’s about as uncoordinated as they come. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Thor says, placing a hand on Bruce’s waist. Bruce smiles and takes Thor’s other hand. 

“You’re going to find out why it matters in like, a minute.” 

“It doesn’t matter. I promise.” 

Thor is right; it doesn’t matter. 

It doesn’t matter because he’s kissing Bruce, and Bruce is going to laugh because Thor is still swaying along to the song but he doesn’t think he could laugh because he’s kissing back so desperately. Thor’s mouth is soft, and he’s slow, all gentle touches and brushes of his thumb against Bruce’s wrist and then his cheeks, and Bruce wants him to kiss faster and tangles his fingers in Thor’s hair and knocks their foreheads together; but Thor isn’t going to be beaten so easily, and he kisses until Bruce slows down and then until Bruce thinks it’s never going to end. 

He’d be okay with that, actually. 

He rests his head against Thor’s chest when they finally stop kissing, and this time, he says, “I love you. I hope that’s okay.” 

Thor strokes his hair, and Bruce can hear him chuckle breathily. “That’s okay,” he says. “I love you too.” 

  
  


There’s a picture that goes viral online, several months later, much to Nick Fury’s chagrin: it’s Bruce, holding the massive scrapbook that makes up his dissertation on New Massachusetts, and Thor, kissing his temple. Others follow: them eating ice cream together in OddFellows in East Village, holding hands in Central Park, sitting on the subway together sharing one pair of earbuds. 

Nobody knows what they’re listening to in that photo, but Bruce does: he remembers the tapping of Thor’s foot, and the grin immortalised on his face, and the sound of Nina Simone’s voice and “ _ my baby just cares for me _ ”. 

Rocket assumes they’ve been eaten by the alien sheep.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading !! pls leave a comment if u enjoyed, they mean the world to me <3


End file.
